Silence dissolves all objects. It is not related to any counterpart which belongs to the mind. Silence has nothing to do with the mind. It cannot be defined. It can be felt directly because it is our nearness. Silence is restriction. It is feeling without a feeler. Silence needs no intermediary. Sound which comes from silence is music.

Within these four walls only a number exists
which does not progress,
which slowly will wish more and more for death.
But suddenly my conscience awakes
and I see that this tide has no heartbeat,
only the pulse of machines
and the military showing their midwives' faces
full of sweetness.
How much humanity
exposed to hunger, cold, panic, pain,
moral pressures, terror and insanity?
What horror the face of fascism creates!
They carry out their plans with knife-like precision.
To them, blood equals medals,
slaughter is an act of heroism.
How hard it is to sing
when I must sing of horror.
Horror which I am living,
horror which I am dying.
To see myself among so much
and so many moments of infinity
in which silence and screams
are the end of my song.